Urban Diaries

by Jackson, Sexcee

Talking about it but not being about it sounds good to

  everyone but those who know me

  Telling the world that I’m gon make it when I’m not so sure myself

  Overstating the obvious when I say I need to get out of the

  GHETTO.

  CHAPTER 30 – 8 IS ENOUGH

  8 Is Enough

  Apt 201

  “FOIL”, Janeese said proudly. “First, Outside, Inside, and then Last. I know you remember that from Matheson’s class, don’t you girl?”

  The girls giggled just at the thought of Mr. Matheson, their old algebra teacher from freshman year. Then Tamela sighed into the telephone and said, “Girl, I remember but hell-o? I barely passed that class. I think I’ll just come over so you can help me. This algebra shit is wearing me out”

  “Alright girl, but give me about an hour because my mom wants me to help her move some boxes up in the attic, ok?”

  “OK, so I’ll see you in an hour pooh, pooh!” Tamela exclaimed.

  “Girl, I am not your pooh, pooh”, Janeese said in her stern and serious voice.” The girls then laughed as they always did, and then hung up the phone.

  “Bitch, why you always on the phone?” Tamela tuned around and looked at her mother and before she could answer, she felt the stinging of her mother’s palm across her light-caramel colored face.

  “Where is my shit Tammy, I know you hid it? Where the fuck is my shit, you yellow bitch? I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to keep your hands off of my shit.”

  Tammy got up off the couch slowly with tears in her eyes ignoring her mother’s tirade and began gathering her books, papers and notebooks in efforts to pack her backpack so that she can go over to Janeese’s house.

  Then suddenly her mother grabbed her and slammed her down on the raggedy sofa as roaches scattered from the cracks of it fearing for their lives. She began shaking and cursing at Tamela violently. As Tamela struggled to free herself, she bumped her forehead on the glass-bottomed lamp. But that didn’t stop her mother’s attack, even as the blood from Tamela’s wound splattered all over her.

  Tamela, finally able to free herself from her mother’s vicious grasp, ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Her mother ran behind her banging on the door shouting at her, “Bitch you better come out of the bathroom right now and give me my shit!”

  Tamela got a face cloth from over the bath railing and ran some cold water on it. She looked in the mirror at her bleeding injury, then at her mother’s palm print across her face, then down to her bruised arms. She turned the water off and heard her mother’s muffled voice still shouting at her.

  “I’ve got to get the hell out of this house”, she said to herself placing the towel on her injury and re-acting to the sting of it. When she opened the door, her mother was lying on the floor crying, begging and pleading, “Tammy please! Baby please give me my shit girl.”

  Tamela went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She pulled out a carton of eggs, opened it, and pulled out a plastic zip-lock bag filled with a broken off car antenna, three, small baggies full of crack cocaine, and a cheap lighter.

  “Here”, Tamela said tossing the bag on the floor by her mother’s face. Her mother suddenly sprung back to life as if magically inclined, grabbed the zip-lock, tore it open and wasted no time. She sat down in a darkened corner of the apartment, and flicked the lighter placing the broken off car antenna nervously up to her black lips. She lit it, and puffed on it long and hard until her eyes rolled back into relaxation all while Tamela watched in silence.

  The phone rang. “Janeese”, Tamela thought.

  “Hey girl”

  “Hey Tammy. My dad came home early and he’s helping my mom in the attic, so you can come over now if you want.”

  “My mom’s sick girl, I can’t come.”

  “Damn, Tammy she’s getting high again. What are you going to do?”

  “Neese, I don’t want to talk about it right now, I’ll see you at school tomorrow ok?”

  Janeese paused and the girls sat in silence a few minutes.

  “Aright girl. I love you pooh, pooh.” Janeese said somberly.

  Tamela paused a few seconds and said, “I am not your pooh, pooh.”

  The next morning, Tamela woke up to the pain of her bruises and injuries from the day before. She dragged herself out of the bedroom and peeped in the living room looking for her mother. “Damn.” she muttered. “It looks like a tornado been through here.” she sighed. The living room was dark, musty, and a complete and utter mess. The lamp from yesterday’s fiasco was still on the floor. She noticed that her backpack had been opened and all of the papers from her schoolwork were strewn all over the floor, the sofa and the coffee table. She still didn’t see here mother anywhere, so she walked slowly into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was wide open and all of its contents were all over the floor. As she looked around, she noticed that busted eggs were all over he walls.

  Tamela’s heart just sank into the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t miss another day of school because Principal Grant said that if she did, she would come to visit and talk to her mother. Tamela then begin to clean up the mess her mother had made knowing full well that she would miss first period.

  As she tidied up the kitchen, she began sobbing silently and wondering why her mother had to be addicted to crack. She hated all drugs but especially crack because she witnessed first hand how it had taken her mother away from her. She smiled a half smile remembering how beautiful her mother used to be. How she used to actually care about her appearance, how she used to care about life, how she used to be such a loving and caring mother.

  After cleaning the kitchen as decent as time permitted, Tamela went into the living room to begin straightening things up. Still no sight of her mother, she quickly gathered her school papers and placed them back into her folder. Suddenly, she remembered her stash spot, in the lining of her backpack. She hurried over to the T.V. where the empty backpack laid flimsily across the top. She

  grabbed it quickly and reached down to the bottom where there was a small tear in the lining, she stuck her fingers through the small tear, and grabbed a wad of bills. Afraid to count it for fear of her mother’s return, she decided to count it later. Tamela finished cleaning the living room and then proceeded to get ready for school.

  When she went into the bathroom, before she turned on the shower, she got a glimpse of her shadow in the mirror. She popped on the light and stared at herself. “Nothing that I can’t fix with make up”, she said of her injuries. When she pulled the shower curtain back, her heart skipped a couple of beats with fear. It was her mother, curled up and sound asleep in the bathtub with her makeshift crack pipe enclosed tightly in her fist.

  “MaMa, get up and go get in the bed.” Tamela said while shaking her mother.

  “Tammy?” her mother asked in her just getting up frog voice.

  “Yeah, Ma?” Tamela answered.

  Her mother didn’t respond. She just looked at Tammy and smiled her toothless smile. She got up out of the bathtub and went into the kitchen to make coffee, obviously not remembering anything from the past 24 hours, either that or trying to forget by not mentioning it.

  Tamela showered and dressed for school. She applied makeup to cover up her visible bruises, but when she tried to cover up the gash on her forehead from the lamp, it burned her ferociously, and she placed a band-aid there instead. She then quickly gathered her things and before she headed out of the door stopped to watch her mother for a few moments in the kitchen.

  “What?” her mother snapped when she noticed Tamela staring.

  “Nothing.” Tamela sighed and headed for the door.

  Apt. 213

  As Tamela began walking, she was met by Lovely, a friend of her mother’s who was thought to be so far gone in her addiction, she constantly roamed the streets and talked to herself. She looked like a 60-year-old homeless woman instead of the once beautiful and sassy young woman that she once was. Lovely’s s
kin was discolored as she played with a few strands of her disheveled hair. “Hey god-daughter, what time is it?” she finally managed to say. Tamela looked at her with a tear in her eye and kept walking without so much as acknowledging her. Lovely smiled and shouted, “Monday, the 18th at 11:15”

  Tamela nonchalantly kept walking past Apartment 213 where Lovely once lived wondering how could she remember the exact date and time of her 4th grade school play which was 6 years ago through all of the haziness in her brain.

  Apartment 213 was vacant now. Lovely was evicted and put out by the State Marshals 6 months ago, but that didn’t stop her from living there. After they removed all of her belongings, which were nothing more than a few garbage bags full of rags that she called clothes, after a few weeks, she moved back in. And so did all the other neighborhood junkies who had nowhere to go or were looking for a place where they could get high in peace. In fact Lovely, invited them to her “home” as if there was still furniture, gas and electricity there.

  When Lovely saw that Tamela was not going to say anything to her she said, “Go on to school baby, and stay away from drugs. Don’t end up like me.” She turned and walked to the vacant apartment and crawled under the make shift boarded doorway that had become the entrance. Sunlight pushed its way through the empty apartment as the shadows and ruminants of the night before lay strewn about, here and there. Bodies filled with the stench of urine and musk of days gone by without bathing in every corner of the dwelling were a permanent fixture to the environment like an oil painting.

  Lovely, walked to the kitchen area and found a half smoked cigarette on the floor. She picked it up and reached in her tattered jacket pocket for her lighter. When she found it, she went and sat down on the floor by the stove. She lit her cigarette and dragged on it with every ounce of her tiny being. When she exhaled, her body trembled a little. She dug into her pocket once again, and pulled out an old watch. It was plastic and inexpensive and one of the bands was missing, but it worked although the time was more than 5 hours off. She checked the time and whispered, “Almost time, almost.”

  Apt. 404

  Anthony grabbed his twin brother Angelo by the head and pretended to slam it down on the imaginary top rope. “Ohh!!” he shouted as he raised his hands in victory.

  “I don’ told you bad ass kids to stop playing in this damn house. Go outside with all that racket”, he said calmly. The weariness in his voice could be traced on his facial expression. He was tired. Years of working and supporting his family had finally begun to wear him down. He felt it all in his body every time he moved but refused to accept it. There was too much to be done.

  Ezra sat down in his old, raggedy, lazy-boy. He grabbed his snuff and his pipe off of the TV tray in front of him. “Donte?” he managed to call out through a fit of muffled coughing. “Yes, Paw-paw?” the shy little boy answered almost out of breath as ran over to his grandfather’s Lazy-Boy. Donte was 4 years old and the youngest of Ezra’s grandchildren. He was the only one that still actually listened. The twins Anthony and Angelo were 15 and often acted like 5 year olds instead of the teenagers they were. They would run and jump and pretend to be WWE Superstars all through the house while Ezra begged for them to go outside. Shanell, the lone female of the house was 17 and all she could ever seem to talk about lately was going away to college. “Bring Paw-Paw’s lighter from in there on my nightstand.” Ezra said. Donte flew out of the living room, ran down the narrow hallway, and was back in a flash with his grandfather’s lighter. “Here Paw, Paw”, he said as he handed him the lighter resting his hands on his knees as he gasped for air.

  Secretly, Donte was Ezra’s favorite and it wasn’t because he was the youngest, it was because he always listened and never complained and understood his loss. He knew the emptiness that Donte lived with, for he too had suffered the death of his own twin sister at an early age as well.

  “I’m hungry Paw-Paw”, Donte said as his grandfather began puffing on his pipe. A tear almost fell from Ezra’s eye as he realized that there was nothing to eat. He never thought that Alice would die before him, but she did. She had a heart of gold and she always made sure there was something to eat even if it was nothing more than cornbread, milk, and sugar. He missed his wife terribly and ever since she died and left him alone with the 4 grandchildren they had custody of, he felt lost and alone.

  Because he held a job, he didn’t qualify for welfare. The only assistance they offered was Medi-cal. They said he made $30 too much to receive Food stamps and that he made $157 too much to receive cash-aid. His job at the Ford dealership washing cars was simply not enough for him and his four grandchildren. After he paid the rent, utilities, and bought the necessities, he barely had $45 left for food. He tried to buy groceries that would stretch such as soup, beans, and lunch meat, but getting paid once a month and with 5 mouths to feed, even that wasn’t enough.

  He held his head down and before he could say anything, Donte dropped a $20 bill in his lap. He thought his eyes had deceived him and he picked up the bill and looked at it to make sure it was real. “I got it from Lovely,” Donte said softly. Ezra sat in silence for a few minutes. “That crazy woman who’s always asking what time is it?” Ezra finally managed to inquire.

  “Yes, Paw-Paw. She asked to buy my watch, you know the broken one that never tells the right time. I told her it was broken and that it don’t work right, but she said it was fine and I told her it was not for sale and she gave me this $20 and told me to give it to my Paw-Paw and then she took it out my hand and kissed me on my forehead and told me to go home. Honest, Paw-Paw, I…”

  “It’s ok Tay, “Ezra cut him off sharply. “Get ya shos so we can go get something to eat. Tell the twins and ya sister we going to the store.”

  “OK Paw-Paw.” Donte said excitedly as he scampered off to find his shos.

  Ezra got up and slid into his slippers. He walked out the front door and across the street and around the bend to apartment 213, Lovely’s apartment.

  “Lovely!” he shouted, “Miss Lovely!” Lovely peeped her head through the boarded doorway. When she noticed who it was, she bent over and crawled out and dragged her way up to the fence. They stared at each other in silence for a few minutes. Then Ezra said, “$20 for a broken watch?” Lovely smiled slowly like she was remembering something and said, “But he’s my…”

  “Stay away from him”, Ezra said sternly.

  “Daddy”, Lovely said as she looked at Ezra half ashamed and tearful. She then turned and walk slowly back toward the apartment. Before she got to the boarded door entrance, she turned around to look at her father, but he was gone. She pulled the watch out her pocket and mumbled, “Almost time.”

  Apt. 704

  America. She had heard so many wonderful things about this country. She was too excited to even realize that she’d only slept a few hours. Yesterday had been a successful day. She paid the gringo the last payment and he gave her her papers. She was Xochitl Yvette Osco, a real American citizen now. She went to the welfare office and they gave her an emergency Medi-Cal card and $505 EBT card for food.

  America was the best country in the world she thought as she stood up on her makeshift bed to stretch. She watched her little girl sleep, pulled the sheet up on her more snuggly and kissed her cheek. She too had a newly paid-for identity. She was now Gabriella. She would call her Gabby for short. She would get to go to school, and learn English, and go to college, and get a good job and be a successful lawyer, or doctor or astronaut. The thoughts overwhelmed her!

  Xochitl looked around the apartment and could see as many as four different families each separated and huddled off together trying to separate themselves from one another. The gringo told everyone the same thing, “Don’t talk to others, the less you know about their situation, the safer you are.” She and her daughter had been at apartment 704 for 10 months, 2 weeks and 4 days to be exact. She counted. She counted for everyday she was away from her parents whom she loved and hated too. As much as she loved them
, she could never forgive them. Never.

  It started when she was 15, she reminisced, looking deeply into nowhere remembering the pain. Her father told her just one time, for the family, so Pepito can get the medicine he needs. She reluctantly agreed and her mother ushered her next door. When he came to the door, he gave her mother a wad of bills and he grabbed her inside. He thought he was just busting a nut but he made her a woman and a mother on a day that will stay etched in her mind forever.

  After baby Clemente was born, her parents sold him to an El Salvadorian couple a few weeks later. She never knew how much they got for him, but it was enough to have an aqueduct of running water built to the house, so she knew it was a lot. Shortly after Clemente, there was Montalvo. By the time she realized she was pregnant with Montalvo, she had slept with so many different men she honestly did not know who his father was. He was sold as soon as the umbilical cord was cut. Right before Lupita was born, she knew she had to leave. For when she would come of age, they would have her prostituting too. She knew her parents’ greed all too well.

  America, the one place her parents would never come looking for her because they were wanted in connection for a robbery homicide in San Diego. When the gringo came with a new customer for her to have sex with, she made a deal with him. She gave him a huge lump sum of the money she stolen from her father’s stash and promised him the rest once she was in America. Needless to say, the gringo got her to America safely and had her working at a restaurant as a waitress getting paid under the table to work off the rest of her debt.